#Poetry:”It’s Over”.

Italian verison here: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/05/04/poesiae-finita/


It’s over,

for real, now.

Time is a healer,

cure, coming like a drug dealer.

I’m a rational man, or a feeler?

For sure, a believer.

But know it’s time to let go,

even if I’ve learned how I prevent things to blow…

It’s over, I’m not in pain anymore

I no longer have an urge to change the color.

Finally it passes me,

like the one I had in my pocket,

which I then gave her, as if I was paying a tax,

but that was friendship, however low.

I remember that there is also good,

in a crazy story, a bit of the “penis”.

I would have liked to give mine, instead of spilling the seed,

now I’m talking about someone who “fears” me.

Certainly, by now one becomes almost necessarily so,

They tell you that you make the zest,

but for me it doesn’t matter: just the race!

Now, however, I let go …

It is clear that here we are hurt,

as much as I did not want,

we are stoned.

I give myself something more than I should,

thinking about faded parts.

Anyway, now this day has come,

where I leave everything behind, I look around …

we’ll see tomorrow where I go, where I go back,

if you do, maybe it’s like seeing a unicorn …

for someone it will be wrong,

maybe I’m hated by you

you will believe that I am all high,

but this is my way, to close with the past …

or remain pure,

don’t get tough,

stay with a flexible heart,

like my mind, open, invincible.

This is my way forward,

I forgive, doing what others do not do.

And that’s how I heal,

so that I feel alive and not wither.

The world does not work like that, ‘fuss if I am not forgiven. You asked me why I was like this … Because from this world, made of hatred, resentment, cynicism, and negative feeling, I don’t want to be devoured.

I don’t want to become succubus, I don’t want to become like a slave, believing that the only way to live is this.

Don’t people forgive me? I forgive them. This is the best choice and I take it. I love myself too much to hate as I love others.

And in fact I’m fine now, so you know what the fuck I care about everything else? What is right or wrong now?

It’s over now: I believe that nothing matters anymore, if not to make everything disappear… and this is the end, this is “In the end”.

Categorie:philosophy, Poetry, psichologyTag:, , , , , , , , , , , ,

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